


A New Command (Interlude)

by Zetared



Series: Reprise 'Verse [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:08:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zetared/pseuds/Zetared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Jean-Luc Picard is gratified by his new command, the Enterprise. Q is contrary, as always. </p><p>Something strange and sinister looms on the horizon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Command (Interlude)

Jean-Luc hadn’t expected Q to struggle so with the new assignment. For years, this had been their shared goal—Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of a galaxy-class starship. Now, the time had come, and his long-time companion seemed more and more nervous with each passing day.

Q paced. Jean-Luc unpacked.

“I cannot believe how small this room is. I remember it bigger.”

“From the ship schematics?” Jean-Luc hazarded, though he had that familiar, itchy feeling that Q meant something else entirely, something too strange for him to easily comprehend.

“The bed, at least, is big enough. And not so empty, now.” Q sounded smug, which put Jean-Luc more at ease. If Q could be smug, then his odd nervousness wasn’t anything to be unduly concerned with. It was most likely Q’s own transition to a new command that was bothering him; he’d just gotten used to the old crew, and now here the man was, forced to be civil to a whole new collection of faces.

“Have you met with any of your teams, yet?”

Q stopped pacing, frowning at the other man. “No, of course not. Why should I?”

“It’s a show of good will, I suppose. And it might put them all at ease, to meet their superior officer in a more informal manner.”

“Do you intend to be meeting the bridge crew earlier than planned?”

“Well. No, but that’s just not how things are done.”

“Mmhm, that’s what I thought. Don’t worry about me, Jean-Luc. My team and I will get along just fine.”

“Chief Science Officer Quinton Hill,” Jean-Luc intoned, smiling a little. “You must be at least a little excited at the idea.”

“Chief Science Officer Q, thank you. And excited is hardly the word. Relieved, more like, that I’m finally earning the recognition I deserve.”

Jean-Luc rolled his eyes and pushed a tall stack of folded towels into Q’s arms. “To the bathroom, please.”

Q sighed in his most put-upon manner but went to do as bidden, cramming the towels into the small supply closet before spinning on his heel and striding back into the bedroom in a few long steps. Without hesitation, he slipped in behind Jean-Luc and wrapped his long arms around the man’s torso, resting his bony chin on Jean-Luc’s shoulder. It made continuing to fold the laundry a bit difficult, but the Captain persevered.

“This is intensely dull.”

“It’s not really meant to be a rousing activity, Q.”

“Mmm, _rousing_ , you say?” Q breathed, and he had that way about him, all close and soft against Jean-Luc’s ear. In a minute or so, Q’s hands would be wandering. Jean-Luc coughed and nudged his husband back a few steps, turning in the man’s loosened grasp to shove a pile of crisply folded trousers in his hands.

“Those are yours. Try not to take up the entire drawer, please.”

Q grumbled but went to put the trousers away. He was a little neater when the folded garments than he had been with the towels. Q’s wardrobe was easily twice the size of Jean-Luc’s, and certainly the lush fabrics took a lot more care. Jean-Luc did not envy the laundry staff on board—Q was certain to stomp down there to give them a thorough talking to, probably within the first week of their arrival on ship.

“What about that new First Officer,” Q questioned, arms held out and ready, this time, for the next load, “Do you really think he can hack it?”

Jean-Luc was a bit surprised by the question. Q had been there every step of the way when he’d worked with Starfleet HQ to pick his crew. He’d seemed relatively comfortable with William T. Riker’s records, at the time. “Why do you ask?”

Q sighed, the sound exaggerated and much aggrieved. “Oh, I don’t know. I was just looking at the roster again this morning. He’s a very good looking man, _mon capitaine._ It’s enough to make a neglected spouse feel rather jealous.”

Jean-Luc snorted derisively, handing Q a stack of his own trousers to put on the other side of the drawer. “You are hardly neglected.”

“And let’s not even begin to discuss Dr. _Beverly Crusher_ ,” Q said, and Jean-Luc was surprised at how truly sincere his snarl sounded. He’d always felt that Beverly and Q were on decent terms. “She’s also lovely, and I know you’ve always felt something toward her, even before Ol’ Jack--.”

“Q,” Jean-Luc snapped, tense, anger sour in his gut. Jack Crusher had been a fine officer, and a damn fine friend. His death, even several years behind them, still stung, not the least due to his own place in it. “I don’t approve of this.”

“Oh, well, if you _don’t approve_ ,” Q sneered, and suddenly Jean-Luc realized—entirely due to long association with Q and a deep, subconscious understanding of the man’s bizarre inner workings—that something was truly bothering him, and it had nothing to do with Commander Riker or Dr. Crusher. Q was spoiling for a fight, and while they tended to bicker quite often in their day to day life, these sharp verbal barbs were only ever apparent when Q was trying to distract Jean-Luc’s attention. The fact that Q had tried to seduce him first only supported the theory. Something was on Q’s mind, and he didn’t want Jean-Luc to know about it.

Jean-Luc sighed, letting the tension drain from his body. He slumped a little in place and put the rest of the laundry aside. He watched for a while as Q continued to put away their clothes, his motions stiff and jerky, as if he was in pain. Jean-Luc tried to remember if he’d mentioned his heart bothering him, lately, but nothing came to mind. Q was rarely reticent about being in pain—he complained quite viciously over the smallest of injuries, in fact, but he was much more secretive about more serious threats to his health. Had he been experiencing chest pains? Perhaps he should plan to have the man see Dr. Crusher when they finally brought her aboard.

“Q,” Jean-Luc said, more sigh than verbalization. It was his turn to step forward, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist, pressing his cheek against Q’s back. “What is it?” He could hear the artificial heart in this position, that familiar, if terrible, clunk-whirr-whirr of sound. Nothing seemed amiss, but Jean-Luc was no doctor.

Q abandoned his task and turned around in Jean-Luc’s arms, folding his taller form around the other man, hugging him close. Even now, after nearly fifteen years of marriage and many more as the closest of friends, Q could be wildly inconsistent in his preference for human touch. He didn’t tolerate the touch of any but Jean-Luc, most days, and even then he could be difficult to peg down, sometimes going months without so much as a caress or a kiss goodbye only to pounce unexpectedly, desperate for closeness, pleading with Jean-Luc not to go too far. Today seemed somewhere in the middle. Q’s moods were especially mercurial, another warning sign of bad tidings that Jean-Luc should have been more aware of, dammit.

“Q,” Jean-Luc repeated, with growing concern, “Please.”

“We’ve caught up,” Q replied, which made no sense at all. “We’ve caught up, Jean-Luc, and I don’t have any idea what might happen next.”

Jean-Luc huffed a soft laugh, attempting to be reassuring. “Is that all? Q, no one knows what’s coming next. Not really.”

Q’s arms tightened around him further, and Jean-Luc felt the tickle of Q’s hair against his cheek as the man shook his head. “You don’t understand. Of course you don’t understand. You’ve always been so limited. You see nothing.”

Jean-Luc just rolled his eyes at the casual insults. After so many years, he was beyond used to Q idly casting aspersions on his intellect. “You’re just tired,” Jean-Luc insisted, speaking gently as he could. “It’s been a long week, and you’ve hardly slept.”

“How can I sleep, with all of this uncertainty? Jean-Luc, I’m as human as I’ve ever been, now. I was weaker, before, but now I am weak and also I know _nothing_. Before I knew what to expect, because I knew you, and I knew what you were capable of, what you would achieve. But now…I was supposed to come into the picture, now. And, of course, I’m not there. So will I be here? And if not me, another? And if they send another, who will it be? And how will they treat you? Oh, Jean-Luc. I’m scared.”

Jean-Luc was surprised. Q rarely admitted to such weaknesses, before. He complained, and he whined, and he regularly showed fear, often in the most bizarrely mundane situations, but he’d never come right out and said it, before, not in Jean-Luc’s recent memory, at least. Jean-Luc stepped back a little, studying Q’s face. The man’s dark eyes were wide, the pupils blown. He was several shades too pale, skin clammy and ashen. His lips trembled with primal emotion and Jean-Luc felt a cold tingle of foreboding down his own spine in sympathy. He pulled a hand free from their embrace and cupped it around Q’s chin, squeezing just a little. “Everything will be fine,” he said, and he wasn’t ashamed to use his Serious Captain voice at a time like this. “Whatever you’re worrying about, everything will be just fine.”

Jean-Luc wasn’t entirely surprised when Q lunged forward, the kiss sudden and a touch too violent. Jean-Luc gripped the other man’s forearms tight, pressing right back into the rough kiss, forcing Q to relent, to relax, until the sharp, painful motions softened and Q’s mouth went more pliant than bruising, letting Jean-Luc in.

When they pulled away from each other, it was with only a few inches of space between. They stood there for a time, sharing oxygen, Jean-Luc’s hands tangled in Q’s hair—too long, as of late; he’d need a more regulation haircut before meeting the crew tomorrow—and Q’s fingertips digging in hard against Jean-Luc’s hips. Q made a soft, pained sound and let his head fall forward so that their foreheads touched. “Don’t let them trick you,” he whispered, and it was some strange, confusing kind of plea, but so open, so desperate that Jean-Luc could only agree.

“I won’t, _mon amour_.”

After a time, Q cleared his throat loudly and all but pushed Jean-Luc away. “Yes. Well. We should continue unpacking. Untidy quarters make an untidy man and all that.”

Jean-Luc, more confused but also slightly more at ease now that Q had stopped trying to bait him into an argument, just let the man go. He wasn’t sure what Q was on about, but, really, he rarely was. The best thing to do would be to wait and see.


End file.
